


First, do no harm

by LettieB



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But also, Don't worry, Gen, Growing Up, Growth, Healer, Instrospective, James is the main character, No shipping, Struggling, and it's mentioned briefly, and then, and we can't shut up about med school, because I am a med student, career choices, everyone else is mentioned briefly, gives me life, irresponsible boys, james potter as a healer, no one dies, only canon parents, sort of as a background, there is blood but it's an accident
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 07:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16949397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LettieB/pseuds/LettieB
Summary: James Sirius Potter knew two things about healers: they worked at St. Mungo’s for too many damn hours a week, and they wore a horrid shade of toxic lime green, and he frankly cared for neither.Also known as: my struggle to give James Sirius Potter depth and not turn him into an exact copy of his namesakes even though it's very tempting, by giving him the unexpected healer career.





	First, do no harm

**Author's Note:**

> What do we hate about our OTP having kids? Turning them into a total copy of the same sex parent.  
> What do we love about our OTP having kids? Building them up into their own character with singular character traits with their own hopes and dreams and flaws that, at times, when necessary and relevant to the plot may resemble one of their parents.  
> Also known as: Look, I’m a med student and med students don’t shut up about med school, of course I’m gonna fucking make one of the Potter kids a healer. And it had to be James because shoving the irresponsible frat boy into adulthood and maturity and watching them Struggle™ and then Grow™ is my kink.

When James Sirius Potter was five years old he was certain he was going to be a quidditch player when he grew up – a very common affirmation by most five-year-olds in the wizarding world. Unlike most five-year-olds, however, James had a very real, very plausible explanation for that, and as far as anyone could guess, a fair shot at it. His mother was a professional chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, and eventually had been part of the team that had won England a world cup. His father had been the youngest seeker in the century (of Hogwart’s history anyway), had been noticeably good at it too, even if he’d deviated from that particular career path. As far as everyone and their grandma was concerned, James was bound to be a legend. It was in his blood.

Except he just… Wasn’t. He was a shit keeper, an even worse seeker, and while he could hold his own as a chaser and made for a decent beater, Lily Luna was leaps and bounds better at it, could fly circles around him before she’d even made it to Hogwarts. His only comfort was that Al seemed to be even worse at it, but that wasn’t much when aforementioned ten year old sister was lording a crushing 200-50 victory over you – and she hadn’t even cheated (you did).

When James was around twelve he’d thought maybe he’d like to be an Auror, like dad. It was a pretty baddass thing to do, fighting dark wizards, keeping the wizarding world safe, going around investigating murders and bursting into secret villain lairs with your cloak flapping in the wind and wand out going “Auror department, wand down!”. Or at least that’s what Uncle Ron told him it was all about. It sounded cool. There was some glamour to it, action, adventure. James was all about that.

Until he grew up a little more and walked into his dad’s office one too many times to find him passed out on top of piles of paper, realized he’d been missing from actually a substantial amount of family birthdays, and that perhaps mom and dad argued more about all that time in the office than he’d ever noticed as a kid. He’d never actually stopped to think about it, but a lot of dad’s job was juggling muggle authorities and pompous politicians and dealing with media backlash and… James wants none of that. Uncle Percy’s politics tirades are enough to make him fall asleep on the spot and when Aunt Hermione gets in on it the whole ministry talk about laws and bills and whoever’s rights is being threatened, James is so, so bored it makes him physically ill.

He really didn’t think the glamour was worth the strife.

[There’s a growing niggling feeling in his chest, a little voice he often waves off in favor of the next thrill, that tells him that his dad casts very long shadows, and maybe he just doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life in them]

His fifth year is a blur of parties, desperate cramming, the quidditch cup, family drama, romantic drama, some more desperate cramming and finally, his O.W.L.s.

It’s not like he hadn’t been thinking seriously about a career choice before this year. It’s just that he hadn’t been thinking seriously about a career choice since Lily had picked up mom’s old broom and scored 3 goals against him before he could even get the quaffle back. Like, six years ago.

His head of house – namely uncle Neville – does the whole Career Advice thing at some point, but it’s still very… Vague, diffuse and incomplete, as the astronomy teacher had once deemed all thirty of his test answers before failing him. He could work in the ministry. But doesn’t everyone do that? Spend half their lives holed up in a cubicle doing merlin knows what until they died? He could help with his uncle’s shop, which is alright, he guesses, but he doesn’t care much for retail of any kind if he could be honest. He could be a healer then. It paid well and it was a solid respectable career.

James knew two things about healers: they worked at St. Mungo’s for too many damn hours a week, and they wore robes a horrid shade of toxic lime green, and he frankly cared for neither. And Neville paints several other career paths before his eyes but all of them seem so… Lackluster or unfitting.

James doesn’t know what he wants to do, and Neville doesn’t know what else to suggest.

And it’s all a bit more full of doom and gloom when you’re supposed to take a test that’ll decide if you’re good enough for a career choice – that doesn’t exist. How are you supposed to choose which classes to take when you don’t know what you want to _do?_ James is a smart guy, quick on his feet, good at short-term memorization, has an honestly astounding ability to remember most things teachers comment in class even if he hadn’t picked up the book to revise… Ever, which is basically what got him through his entire academic life so far. But he’s not aunt Hermione, he’s not gonna ace everything, especially when he’s only started really studying a couple months before and _merlin’s sagging left bollock he’s fucked, isn’t he?_

He’s not, in fact, fucked.

He does alright. Actually, better than, and no one is more surprised than himself. He gets some Exceeds Expectations and even a few Outstandings and the one O in potions that he has no clue whatsoever where the heck came from because he was known for blowing up cauldrons and it’d never once been on purpose.  He half expects some frazzled sleep deprived WEA worker switched his test with someone else’s but well. He’s not that much of a righteous Gryffindor that he’d up and _complain_ about it.

He drops some of the more boring subjects and keeps on a fairly basic curriculum, and prays that whatever he wants to do for the rest of his life does not involve the correct moon phase for cutting a troll’s toenail, because he’s never gonna know that.

(Except he does and it’s full moon and god knows why he’s memorized that and not the last three chapters of Animal transfiguration he’d stayed up till 3 am reading before the test. His brain is dumb and it hates him).

His sixth year is an even bigger and faster blur of parties, watching the quidditch cup from the bleachers, a little less family drama, a little more romantic drama, and considerably less cramming. A lot more studying, though. A lot less sleep, as well. And… Look, he’s a mess, ok? He doesn’t know what he wants out of life, he can’t even keep a girlfriend for more than a couple months, he doesn’t know how to handle anything more permanent than a haircut.

It’s not that he’s grown a wisdom tooth overnight and decided to hunker down and start getting serious with the whole airquotes life plan thing. But everyone else is doing _just that,_ and it feels like he’s wasting his life by not… At least trying? It’s not that he’s settled down and turned into a mature adult overnight. It’s just that he’s trying to put fun and work on a scale and not have it clatter to the ground under the weight of fun.

It’s just…

[Mom and dad were so happy with his O.W.L.s and he doesn’t ever want to forget how big their smiles were that night he’d told them he got two Outstandings, doesn’t ever want to forget the warmth that spread in his chest when they told him they were _so proud_ ]

When James is seventeen his cousin does something incredibly, ridiculously stupid and almost gets himself killed. They are both heartbroken – for different but entirely lovesick teenager reasons – and royally smashed – for the exact same firewhisky reason. They had snuck away from the castle through one of the secret passages, with a bottle of Ogden's Old under one arm and not enough sense in their heads, and – not much of a plan. They had already been halfway through the second bottle when they’d decided to sneak out in the first place.

Freddie was a whole lot skinnier and empty-stomached too, which meant he was twice as hammered, and had put it in his head he’d have no trouble apparating them to Hogshead. Which wouldn’t have been much if he’d been in castle grounds – anti-apparition wards and all – except they’d emerged somewhere in between Hogsmeade and such protective wards and Freddie Weasley the Second splinches himself into the next century.

James will never find words to describe the moment his mind went from pleasant fuzzy drunkenness to a screeching, sobering halt, or the sheer terror that overcame him once he realized his cousin had disappeared, only to reappear a few feet ahead – missing an arm and a leg. There is so much blood, and Fred is just – screaming, so loudly James knows it will haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life, and he stumbles, half drunk, full desperation towards Freddie’s prone body, can only drop to his knees next to his cousin, try and press his damp cloak to the wounds in a useless attempt to help, mind going absolutely blank, no sign whatsoever of any helpful spells that could stem the bleeding or fix him or anything that wasn’t a constant stream of “please don’t die, please don’t die, please don’t die”.

There is one second – one split moment of clarity, where Freddie has slipped into unconsciousness from the pain, in which the one thing that crosses the thick barrier of terror is the spell to emit a distress call. It takes all he has to maintain that second of sobriety and calmness to perform it and – he doesn’t know how long it actually takes, but it feels like only a second when the mediwitch apparates a couple meters back – close to where Freddie’s missing arm and leg lay. And it doesn’t take more than a glance at the missing members and bloodied track and the fallen, now spilled firewhisky bottle to put two and two together.

She rushes towards them in what seems like a step and pulls James away from his cousin with a shove much harder than one would expect from such a tiny woman. She pulls the cloak back and with very specific wand motions and a spell James had heard once, maybe, in his life, puts Freddie back together. Another set of wand motions and she stems the bleeding. Another spell and all the blood clears away, along with the dirt and gravel that’d contaminated the wounds, but James can still only see empty space where limbs should be, and so much blood, and he feels sick and light-headed, like he might throw up at any second.

He does. Turns his head away, half crawls away and throws up into the nearest bush – like a right courageous Gryffindor. But not until the mediwitch casts her final spell, and the jagged edges where flesh had been torn and pushed together again start caving in on themselves, tissue stretching and lacing together as if she’d taken needle and thread to it. When it’s all done, all that remains is an angry red scar for each of Freddie’s splinched members, a rather furious mediwitch, and a memory of a night out gone wrong that will jolt James awake for the next three weeks.

In under ten minutes, this woman has saved his cousin’s life. And she didn’t seem to think it was particularly difficult either. Throughout the whole process she’s remained centered and collected, even when James starts sobbing in relief and thanking her repeatedly like – well, a baby. If he’s being honest. She shrugs away his gratitude with an indignant huff and starts checking _him_ for any injuries, running commentary on the boys’ equal amount of stupidity and luck. Once everything is clear, she informs him she will call for the school nurse so they can be removed to Hogwart’s Hospital wing, and she damn well will be telling their parents.

She’s a middle aged witch, with tangled, wavy hair coming off a bun tinged with grey, she has wrinkles in her forehead and in the corners of her mouth, looks dead on her feet, like she hasn’t slept in days and is wearing robes of that exact horrid shade of toxic lime green he knows belongs on only one institution’s uniform.

When it’s all said and done, and he’s leaving his cousin behind in a hospital wing bed, heading to the headmistress’s office for the dressing down of a lifetime, he turns around to thank the mediwitch again. She’s still frazzled and not one bit impressed, but there is kindness in her eyes when she rolls them, exasperated, and says “Regular Tuesday, boy”.

And it strikes James like few things ever had before.

[There was no amount of money, or comfort, or fun that could replace the value of someone’s life. He sees that now. Healers worked way too many hours and wore dumb robes, the NEWTs were a nightmare and the training grueling but if it meant his regular Tuesday would be making sure it didn’t become the worst day of someone’s life…]

It just feels like James has a debt to the universe to pay.

Plus, it’d be a waste of an O in potions otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I don't know if anyone will read this, to be honest. But i hope it strikes someone's fancy. I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> There will be a chapter two delving a little more into training and working, but I couldn't be bothered right now.


End file.
